


Hindsight

by Shalebridge_Cradle



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-06-26 20:09:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15670416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shalebridge_Cradle/pseuds/Shalebridge_Cradle
Summary: Veronica didn't show up to school, the Monday after the party. Or the day after. Or the day after that.Heather Chandler was not letting her get away that easily.





	1. Mea Culpa

The stage was set.

Word of what happened at Ram’s party had spread like the plague – Veronica, kinda-weird Veronica, hot nerd Veronica, doesn’t-know-when-to-shut-her-mouth Veronica, had thrown up and, in doing so, thrown away the very thing so many craved. All for… what? Saving Martha Dumptruck a few hours of embarrassment? And, greatest of her many sins, Veronica had the fucking _nerve_ to talk back after puking all over the most popular girl in school.

The arena – the halls of Westerburg High, Monday morning. The crowd waiting with bated breath, the judge, jury and executioner Heather Chandler searching for the traitor to be thrown to the lions.

But Veronica, defiant Veronica, defender-of-the-defenseless Veronica, main-event Veronica, wasn’t there to start the show.

They looked everywhere – the locker rooms, behind the school where the burnouts spent their time, the darkest corners of the library. Nothing. Sawyer couldn’t be stupid enough to think this was going to blow over just because she played hooky for a few days. Didn’t she see that this was just going to make everything worse for her? Honestly, Heather was doing Veronica a favor by tracking her down and getting it over with. Rip off the band-aid of her inevitable crucifixion, and go back to being scum again.

Filled with a sense of twisted benevolence, Heather Chandler began her search.

 

She checked with Dennis first – he had his nose in everyone’s business, even more than Yearbook Head Heather Duke (a positive for once, because she didn’t know a goddamn thing). If nothing else, he’d have his ear to the ground, in a sense. He might have heard some bullshit rumor about how she’s moved out-of-state, but at least he had heard something.

“I’m not participating in your schemes, Heather,” Dennis didn’t even look up from his photographs – Chandler spied both the red-and-black of the Rottweilers uniform and Peter’s multicolored banner for children in need amongst the images. “Even if I suddenly lost my soul, I haven’t heard anything that’s backed up by any evidence.”

Heather crosses her arms. “It’s a matter of discipline, Dennis. If Veronica gets to fuck over a perfectly good joke, what’s stopping everyone else?”

“Yes, yes, it’s a threat to your regime, I understand.  Unless you believe she’s gone into the witness protection program or that she was a Russian spy all along, I can’t help you.”

…Who the hell was saying she was a spy? Maybe she was - not for Russia, that’s ridiculous, but maybe this was all to gain insight into how the Heathers worked. There was a thought.

“Thank you, Dennis. You’ve been helpful.”

“Oh. That’s unfortunate.”

Chandler made a mental note to spill something on his cluttered desk the next time she was there.

 

-

 

Days passed. Still no Veronica.

Chandler didn’t want tip her hand, and Veronica probably still had enough faith in her parents to tell them some of what transpired. Duke did mention that she sent letters flying when she hit their mailbox with her Jeep, so either they moved in a hurry or (more likely) they were still living there. Chandler wasn’t quite at the point of hanging outside Veronica’s house, holding up a boombox playing a funeral march mixtape, but she was getting close. That mixtape actually existed now, that was definitely an indicator.

The thing was that she was searching for a _persona non grata_. No-one had seen her, because no-one wanted to – why would anyone associate with the chick who blew chunks right in front of Heather Chandler? That was what they said to Heather’s face, anyway. They were sharing all types of ideas as to where the fugitive was hiding amongst themselves, and all of them sounded like horseshit.

“Are you worried about her?”

Heather McNamara. It almost sounded serious, but you could never be sure if the words out of her mouth were gonna be a deep and meaningful insight or some barely coherent bullshit.

“Who?” Chandler gave a mocking smile. “You don’t mean _Veronica,_ do you?”

“Well, _duh_. Not like you care about anyone else who isn’t called ‘Heather’.”

…Yeah, okay, she had a point there. “I just want answers. That’s all. I mean, if she’s dead I’d like to know _now_ so we can move on with our lives.”

“Do you want her to be?”

“No!”

Chandler said that a bit fast. McNamara frowned, but one look from Chandler was all it took to make her drop the subject.

She didn’t want Veronica dead, that much was true – dead people don’t learn, after all – but now McNamara’s planted that seed in her head, it was like telling Heather not to think of a polar bear. Now, instead of all the ways she was gonna make Veronica pay, it was all the ways Veronica could have died before she could get her comeuppance. Maybe Veronica got… eaten by cows. Maybe she passed out in a puddle and drowned. Maybe she got silenced by her handler for being a terrible spy.  Heather didn’t know, but now she couldn’t stop searching for an imaginary answer.

New scenarios kept popping up in her head, in class, while she was trying to sleep, everywhere. Truly, Heather was cursed with an overactive imagination. The radio silence from Team Sawyer let those theories multiply, like bacteria.

Goddammit, McNamara.

 

-

 

Over a week, now. Still. No. Veronica (did she get hit by lightning? Slip and crack her skull open? Suffocate on her own vomit?).

…Fuck it.

Clipboard in hand, having roamed around the cafeteria three times to work out exactly what she was going to do, Heather walked up to Martha Dumptruck’s usually lonely table. Jason Dean, having returned from his suspension, glared up at her as she approached – weird that he had lowered his status from feared lone wolf to glorified guard dog. There was none of the anger from poor Martha, though. Nothing but the sort of sadness that came with her position on the social ladder.

The abused-puppy eyes didn’t work on Heather, though. She just smiled, as artificially sweet as Saccharin.

“Hey, Martha. That party last Saturday was great, wasn’t it?” No response. Not that she was expecting one. “You know what a lunchtime poll is, right? I have to get answers from all members of the graduating class at some point.”

Dean crossed his arms, no doubt trying to look intimidating. “So you’re skipping over everyone else, huh?”

“I gotta start somewhere. Don’t you want to answer?” _Don’t you want to be included, Martha?_

Martha takes the bait. “That depends on the question.”

Silently gloating, Heather clicked her pen. “So, your best friend comes a-knocking on your door in the middle of the night, asking for a place to crash. Since she’s your friend, of course you let her in. A little while later, the cops ring your doorbell and ask you questions about your buddy – apparently, she’s committed a homicide and they’re hoping to catch her before she kills again. Do you do the right thing and hand her over to the cops, or do you let her get away with murder?”

“I wouldn’t. I don’t know enough about the situation to make that choice. She might be falsely accused,” Dean replied.

“Honor among criminals, I see.” Dean shrugged, and Heather set her sights on her real target. “Martha?”

Martha took a while to answer, tapping her fingers on the edge of her lunch tray. Instead of doing what she was told, she countered with another question.

“This is about Veronica, isn’t it?”

Heather smirked. “So you’re _not_ stupid.” Her pen hovered over the clipboard, ready for a resolution. “Well? Which is it, Dunnstock?”

“Don’t answer. She’ll make it hell for her,” Dean muttered to Martha.

“How? It’s not like she can see her, anyway.”

The tiniest pang of dread shot through Heather’s chest at that (thrown herself off a bridge, choked on poison, left to die in an alley). “Why not?”

“…She got hit by a car.”

It was almost like the noise around her was fading away, like the world was getting smaller. All of a sudden, all Heather could hear were the words coming out of Martha Fucking Dunnstock’s mouth.

“I called her house Sunday morning,” Martha continued, “They told me what happened. Veronica didn’t have a ride home on Saturday, so she walked, and she must have..." she paused, shaking her head. "JD saw it, outside his window. He called the ambulance – whoever hit her drove off.”

Heather couldn’t speak. Some far-off part of her mind reminded her she couldn’t scream either, not here. As she tried to make her lips move (though she didn’t know what to say – definitely not apologize), Dean had already lined up his shot.

“She could’ve died because of you.”

That hit harder than any bullet.

 

-

 

“Oh my god. You murdered her.”

Chandler closed her eyes. “I am _this_ close to coming over there and kicking you in the teeth, Heather. I couldn’t have _murdered_ Veronica, she’s still alive. Besides, it had nothing to do with me – it was some dickless wonder who couldn’t face the consequences.”

Martha had told Heather not to tell anyone about Veronica’s whereabouts, but 1) she was not gonna get ordered around by _Martha Dumptruck_ and 2) Duke needed to know she’d wasted her time. McNamara hadn’t been given the news _just_ yet – it wouldn’t work in Chandler’s favor if she ‘forgot’ she wasn’t supposed to mention anything. No, this information was for those who could be _trusted_ to keep their mouth shut.

Heather could hear Duke shuffling about on the other end of the phone line, holding back some other response. “You’re gonna go see her, right?”

“Of course I am. Supposedly family only, but not immediate family. I can pretend to be her cousin.” She hoped Veronica hadn’t prepared a list, either of the only people who could visit her or the people who couldn’t. Considering Martha wasn’t allowed to swing by, she probably didn’t have the agency to do so.

…God. Every time Chandler thought about it, she had to remind herself that, ultimately, it changed nothing. Honestly, she shouldn’t have been bothered by it at all – she was Heather Chandler, she was supposed to be stone cold, solid Teflon.

“Okay,” Duke replied, clearly unconvinced. “What are you gonna say to her?”

Heather didn’t know. Like, should she still go ahead with the whole metaphorical crucifixion thing? Getting rammed by a car was more damage than Chandler was ever going to commit, but Veronica wasn’t gonna get out of punishment just because she almost died.

“…I’ll figure it out when I get there.”

“Smothering her with a pillow is still an option, isn’t it?”

“ _I swear to God, Heather_.”

 

-

 

Clearly, the nurse didn’t know what she was in for.

She was young, Heather noted that – her uniform was so neatly pressed, practically neon when compared to the duller colors of her coworker’s scrubs. New meat, probably, not yet submerged in the smell of disinfectant and death. She smiled reassuringly when Heather detailed her cover story, but remembered she had a job and asked for a name.

“Rose,” was the immediate answer. Made sense for her fake name to be another flower.

“Last name?”

Her mother’s surname would probably do. “Gage.”

“Okay, sweetie. Your cousin ain’t gonna be as with it as she might usually be. She’s on a lotta pain meds, so don’t get all offended if she says things you don’t like – they help you feel okay, but they can make your head all funny.”

“Noted.” Veronica already said things Heather objected to. This changed nothing. “Can I see her now?”

“Now, hold on. Lemme just let her know you’re here. She might not be awake – we’ll check together, ‘kay?”

Okay, maybe the nurse _did_ have an idea. As she guided Heather down the hall ( _Oh my God, is she wearing clogs? Did she put a shitload of stickers on them or are they that ugly by design?_ ), all Chandler could think of was how Veronica was going to react. If the nurse just said her name, well, Heather couldn’t check the Sawyer family tree. Obviously, when Veronica heard the name ‘Rose Gage’, she was just gonna go “who?” and the jig would be up, if she didn’t immediately call Heather out when she saw her face.

The nurse gestured to a plastic seat. “Wait here, sweetie.”  Heather obeyed, and the nurse knocked on the door. “Miss Sawyer? Your cousin Rose is here to see you.”

A pause.

“Oh, yeah, Mom told me she was coming.” Veronica’s voice. “She can come in.”

Holy _shit_ , Heather was a genius. Pulled a name out of her ass and, by some infernal force, it happened to be right. Not that she had time to revel in her victory, because the nurse was ushering her in, and the sudden rush of high spirits evaporated as abruptly as it appeared.

The pastels and bleach-white walls of the hospital made everything feel washed-out and unreal, but this was something else. Veronica, unable to hide under scarves or blazers, looked practically cadaverous – pale, drawn, wires and tubes stuck onto skin decorated with splotches of purple. The left side of her head, already covered in dressings, had been shaved, showing a curved gash held shut with steel staples. If nothing else, her eyes were still bright and alert. Heather was going to use that as justification – she wasn’t completely without morals.  Just mostly.

“Hey,” said Veronica, free of any bitterness or fear.

Weird.

“Hey.”

…

…

…Heather should probably say something else.

“How you feeling?”

Veronica gave a pained smile. “Been better.”

God, this was awkward. Not that Heather felt guilty or anything, this was so totally not her fault. Not like _she_ was driving the car. _Completely_ unrelated to anything Chandler had ever done.

Didn’t stop the unspoken hanging in the air, mingling with all the other unpleasantness.

“I hope you know I don’t have any cousins named Rose,” Veronica mentioned, a way to fill the void.

“I didn’t. Didn’t know you had _cousins_ , I just assumed.” …Hold on. “Why did you lie, then?”

“I _assumed_ you wanted to see me. You’re a friend, aren’t you? A good friend?”

Now, _hold the fucking phone_.

“You don’t remember who I am,” Heather muttered, hollow. She didn’t think it was possible to feel any more terrible than she already did, anger and disappointment and _horror_ rising in her throat.

No correction. For a moment, Veronica seemed to be in a different kind of pain. “Did the nurse not tell you? Wow, I didn’t think it was possible to have a worse memory than mine right now.”

Was it a lie? No, if it was, Veronica would have called Chandler’s bluff – Martha played by the rules and Dean wouldn’t have used a female alias. Heather wouldn’t have made it in, because Veronica would have an idea of the coming storm. But she didn’t.

“Amnesia,” Veronica explained, “ _retrograde_ amnesia, apparently. I’m sorry.”

 

This was _not_ the apology Heather wanted.


	2. Carpe Diarium

Fuck everything. Just… fuck it all. Send everything about this situation to the ninth circle of Hell and shove it up Satan’s asshole.

Heather had called a meeting. Yes, this meant McNamara was in on the secret, too, after repeated promises to keep her mouth shut. She didn’t seem to understand the severity of the situation, still staring blankly as Duke and Chandler got down to business.

“She can still talk, can’t she?” Duke asked, “Just make her beg for her social life. That’s what you were gonna do anyway, right?”

“That’s not the point! She doesn’t _know_ that she wants to be with us, so why would she try? She’d just go back to the Great White Whale she used to be friends with like nothing ever happened.”

“But that’s what you _want_.”

That was obviously what Duke wanted, too. Chandler wasn’t sure what made Duke think she was second-in-line before Veronica showed up, or that Veronica was in any way threatening her position, but that was so obviously the case. Heather heard all those comments about Veronica’s weight or her laugh or her walk, seeing how much pain Veronica would take. And she wondered why Chandler told her to shut up so often.

Heather paused. A simple ‘no’ would have raised questions, given her track record of ruining people’s lives simply because they looked at her funny. “All I _want_ is a real apology. Not just saying it to make me go away. I want Veronica to _regret_ the night she crossed me, and she can’t do that if she doesn’t remember it.”

Duke narrowed her eyes, but the sigh she gave let Heather know she’d let it slide.

“Get her diary, then.”

Finally, McNamara had caught up to everyone else, and may have come up with a good idea for once. Heather hadn’t seen the diary on her last visit (then again, she was too busy screaming internally to really notice), and she wouldn’t have been so readily accepted by her amnesiac former friend if she did have access to her favorite book.

“Maybe it’ll, like, jog her memory,” she went on, shrinking a little under Chandler’s stare (Heather wasn’t much good at _not_ looking intimidating), “do you know where she keeps it?”

“If she _did_ , don’t you think she would have it by now?”

“Shut up, Heather.”

Duke didn’t even bother with a “sorry, Heather” that time. She knew by now what that tone of voice meant, and it meant she was probably safe.

That muted tone meant that Chandler was planning.

 

-

 

Heather had brought along her crack heist squad – a cheerleader, proficient in lifting people up, and a… person who felt guilt? Maybe? Duke could do other things, of course, but sympathy wasn’t really one of them anymore.

Whatever. It was a simple enough plan – Duke knocked on the door and asked for Veronica, under the guise of returning a book (which was actually true. Finally, the nerdiness paid off somehow). If that didn’t get her in, she asked where Veronica had been, maintained the conversation for long enough that Heather could sneak in through the bedroom window and start her search.

When McNamara heard three voices at the front door, she signaled to Chandler.

“Keep your weight centered,” she whispered, “or you _will_ fall.”

“Thanks for the reassurance, Heather.”

“There’s usually two other people to help, Heather!”

Rolling her eyes, Chandler set herself on McNamara’s shoulders, and kept her cool when she was hoisted up. That was the hard part out of the way. The lock on Veronica’s window was broken, so sliding it open was a cakewalk. Climbing in was less graceful, as McNamara had to shift her weight when Chandler tried to clamber in.

That was fine, though. Step one complete – in Veronica’s bedroom with no noise. Bonus, the bedroom door was closed. Extra concealment.

This was the first time Heather had actually seen the room, now that she thought about it. It wasn’t bad – messy, sure, everything about Veronica seemed messy and unplanned – but kinda… cozy, Heather supposed. There was a little alcove there for reading (or staring moodily out the window), a big ol’ bed with too many pillows – hell, Veronica even had a fireplace. Nicer than expected, but there was no blue-grey book just sitting out there waiting to be taken. Heather needed to stop criticizing Sawyer’s décor, and her choice in reading material.

Why _did_ she have two copies of _Les Miserables_ , anyway? Why was one of them shoved into Veronica’s bookcase upside down?

…Wait.

Heather took the book off the shelf, and grinned as she flipped through the pages. Someone had hollowed out a small space in the middle of the pages, and in it sat a tiny silver key. A quick look around the room, and Chandler spied a lock on Veronica’s bedside table.

Jackpot. All she had to do was slip in the key –

Footsteps sounded outside the door. Chandler barely had time to scramble under the bed before the door creaked open.

“Heather? Heather, it’s just me.”

Oh, thank god. Duke.

“Why aren’t you downstairs doing your job?” Heather hissed.

“Returning a book, remember?”

...Right. Cover story.

“Whatever. I’m almost done here. Talk for another few minutes, then we’ll motor.”

Chandler could see Duke’s shifting feet. “I might be longer than that.”

“You’re kidding.” Duke hadn’t driven her own car – the Jeep that took out the Sawyers’ mailbox would put the parents on edge. If she was delayed, Chandler and McNamara would have to wait around too.

Duke stammered, desperately trying to come up with an excuse, but ended up settling on “I have to pretend to care, don’t I?”

"You have ten minutes. After that, we’re leaving without you.”

Duke left without another word – perhaps she nodded, forgetting Chandler couldn’t see it from her hiding place. Heather didn’t know, and didn’t much care. There was still a job to do.

Crawling out from under the bed like some sort of monster, Heather slid the key into the lock. It clicked open, and the notebook and the secrets it held were free for the taking.

 

-

_Dear Diary,_

_Can Heather Chandler NOT be a bitch for ten minutes? Getting me to potentially ruin Martha’s life is bad enough (and I still feel like garbage for giving in) but come on. Is it that bad tobe into ~~high school guys~~ one high school guy in particular? I know that as a lizard person in a crazy hot skin suit she’s incapable of love but does she really need to ruin everyone else’s day? ~~That might be how she sustains herself~~_

_I mean that new kid is pretty great. Not only does he give no fucks about the world order he can back up all his Rebel Without a Cause talk. Dude took on Ram AND Kurt in a fist fight and looked fucking fine doing it._

_But that’s whatever. Selling my soul DID get me into a Cool Kid party. I’ll decide if it was worth it later. Reporting back when I get home._

There was a large empty space Veronica had left blank. All Heather can think about is what might have happened – what would she have written if she got home safely? What if she died, the entry forever unfinished? Hell, even with Veronica still alive, it may never be finished – her memory might never come back on its own, and the doctors that told her couldn’t help with that. What were they _for_ , then?

…Come to think of it, did Heather want it to? Really? Veronica hated her, with good reason. Her loyalty to Martha Dunnstock was genuine, not simply a matter of safety in numbers or because Martha offered something she wanted, and it was strong enough to whether the storm that was Westerburg’s elite. That was where Chandler’s power came from, really, so there was no way out but to dump her.

Heather didn’t want that. It was for reasons other than being a valuable asset, like she was in the beginning. Heather liked Veronica. She was way more fun to talk to than anyone else at school, with a snide comment here and a brilliant idea there. Yeah, she was a massive dork, but in an endearing way. A way Heather could cope with.

She knew she couldn’t get that Veronica back, though.

Chandler flipped through the pages, back to the first entry.

 

_Dear Diary,_

_I believe I’m a good person. I think there’s good in everyone ~~but~~_

_Here we are. First day of senior year! I look around at these kids I’ve known all my life and I ask myself –_

_what happened?_

 

-

 

“Veronica? Your cousin Rose is here to see you.”

“…Oh, cool. Send her in.”

This was sounding familiar. Heather walked in, bag in hand, and Veronica smiled the exact same way as last time. She looked a little less like she was on Death’s Door, at least. There was color in her cheeks, more ease of movement, though still limited. At least she could lift up her hand to give Heather a shaky wave.

“You don’t remember who I am, do you?”

Veronica cringed. That was answer enough. Another pang of something shot through Heather’s heart – it wasn’t shock, though. It was more hurt this time.

“It’s fine,” Heather lied, “Don’t worry about it. You took quite the hit, from what you told me.”

It was Veronica herself who warned her this might occur. Apparently, amnesia could be divided into two sections – failing to remember things before the event (in this case, getting hit by a car) and failing to remember things after. While you tended to get more of one than the other, it was likely you would get a bit of both.

“I know that you’re lying about being my cousin, though,” Veronica added, “are you a friend?”

“Yeah, I am. A good friend. Listen, I got you something that might help…”

Heather fished around in her bag for the right book. Drawing it out with just a hint of ceremony.

It wasn’t blue. It was blood red.

Veronica frowned as she reached out to take it. “Is this mine?”

“Well, it is now,” Heather explained. “I think you had one of your own – a notebook or something, but I don’t know where it is. So, I got you another one. Do you like it?”

Veronica turned it over, flipping through the blank pages with careful fingers. “It’s a pretty color. Yeah, I like it. Thanks, Rose.”

Heather shook her head. “My real name’s Heather. Rose was just a cover.”

There was a flicker in Veronica’s eyes, and recognition spread across her face like a wildfire. Chandler felt a choking cold in her chest – she had said too much, surely. Nothing more than the name was enough to bring it all back, that was what that face meant.

“Is your last name Chandler?”

_Ah, fuck._

Heather nodded her head. Part of her was terrified that the jig was up two minutes in, but another part felt honored that Veronica remembered her first. The latter emotion was validated when Veronica’s face split into an unexpected grin, and a jolt of joy washed away the freezing feeling of dread.

“I remember you!” Veronica cheered ( _that’s right, Dumptruck, that’s right, Psycho, she remembers_ me _not you_ ), “Gosh, I didn’t recognize you without all that hair you had! You finally got it under control, huh?”

…Okay. This was going in a different direction than Heather thought it would. She wasn’t sure where it was gonna go, given that any memory of Chandler was likely negative, but she’s not sure why Veronica is going _there_. She wasn’t wrong, that was the thing – Heather _did_ more or less have a lion’s mane on her head when she was younger.

“It takes a lot of styling,” Heather said slowly.

“Oh, yeah, I bet,” Veronica giggled, “I remember I had to make the flower crown twice as wide, ‘cause it’d break otherwise.”

Flower crown?

Oh. Oh shit, Heather remembered this part. How could she forget to begin with? Probably from pushing it down, actively _trying_ to forget for ten years.

“In Kindergarten, do you remember?”

Yes, yes she did. It was stupid. Kids are stupid and unrealistic, and unfortunately Heather was no exception. She always fantasized about being a princess when she was younger, without the sense of scale to realize she already was, in a way –

“- and I was getting really good with my hands, and I learnt how to make a flower crown out of dandelions -”

 - so Veronica had made her a crown, because after all, a princess had to have a crown -

“- and you loved it, and you said that since I did such a good job I needed a reward -”

\- and how did princesses reward people? With a kiss, of course.

Her first kiss was with Veronica Sawyer.

 


	3. Janus

She'd expected it to be a massive revelation, something that shook her to the very core, that made her doubt everything she knew about herself.

It wasn’t.

It was like a… like a knick-knack on a shelf, collecting dust, that had only just been noticed again. Something that had always been there, just ignored.

It _did_ happen, Heather wouldn’t deny that. Veronica helped her remember the kiss, and her brain branched off from there. Heather also remembered how Veronica (messy hair, well-worn overalls, fingers stained green from threading flowers) covered her lips with the tips of her fingers, smiling bashfully. Heather remembered going home to her mother, flower crown still perfectly in place, and telling her all about it.

Heather remembered her mother sitting her down for a talk.

She wasn’t in trouble, Mother had said. What Heather did wasn’t _really_ wrong, but there were a lot of people who thought that girls should only kiss boys, definitely not other girls. Like Father. If she kept doing it, people might be mean to her, and no-one wanted that.

Of course, Heather wanted to be liked by as many people as possible. She didn’t want anyone to pull her hair or push her or mess with her things. Heather wanted to be treated like a proper princess.

So, she cut Veronica out of her life. Now she was here, top of the food chain, queen in her ivory tower.

What a stupid, stupid, _stupid_ child she was.

 

In a way, she’s learning about two different Veronicas – the bitter, unforgiving one who vented her frustrations to her diary, and the cheery storyteller in the hospital bed. The one from the diary was so very creative – not only with how she insulted those who happened to earn her ire (Chandler included), she also made up for the atrocious handwriting with doodles on the edges of the page. There was a pretty good one of Chandler, cackling maniacally with a mouth full of sharp teeth a few pages in. Chandler wanted to frame it.

The current Veronica – Heather couldn’t really call her ‘the new one’, technically the diary one was the newer model – was just happy for some company in a place that was both physically and emotionally sterile. She didn’t care that Chandler often spent most of their visits talking about herself. She was almost excited for the opportunity.

Heather… wasn’t used to that. Yeah, she was used to having guys hang on to her every word, but that was always because they wanted something from her. Veronica didn’t. That threw her off.

It wasn’t like Heather needed a psychiatrist, or anything. She didn’t need to flop down on a couch and cry with some condescending fuck asking how it made her _feel_ – talking about feelings was the last thing she wanted to do. It was just… Christ, it was _nice_ to be able to share something and not have to worry about it being used against her.

Sometimes, Veronica was just happy to be there, sometimes she had a response. It might have been a question, and Heather was careful not to give too much away (she didn’t want to trigger any other memories) or maybe it was a quip or a sarcastic comment that made Heather chuckle. Every now and again, Veronica shared some of the drama she overheard – A dysfunctional family arguing over a terminal patient’s will! A delirious drug addict attacking staff with his IV stand! The whirlwind romance between a doctor and a nurse that lasted a whole week!

But in those stories, whatever one of them shared, the major difference between the two was revealed.

Whenever Chandler told her she was tired of being jerked around, whenever something happened with a negative (and often deserved) outcome, Veronica would share some sort of sympathy. Squeezing Heather’s hand with a smile, or offering some soothing words.

“I hope you find a way to get back at them.”

“I hope the family sorts things out.”

“I hope they find someone they love, even if it isn’t each other.”

 _I hope_.

The one who wrote in diary knew things could be better, but she didn’t expect them to be. She’d written off the entire town of Sherwood and practically everyone in it as a lost cause. All she wanted to do was get out. The one Heather was talking to right now, though just as quick-witted as the first, was openly optimistic. Didn’t want to give up, even though her life was more of a dumpster fire than she knew. _This_ Veronica genuinely thought things would work out.

Heather didn’t know how to feel about that.

 

-

 

“The doctor swung by the other day.”

It was a lovely afternoon – Chandler was enjoying the warmth of what little sunshine there was peeking through the blinds. Veronica was making notes in her new diary, one hand scribbling away, the other holding Heather’s.

It meant nothing. It was a friendly thing. This is what friends do, right? Veronica was just starved of a touch that wasn’t clinical. Heather was providing, platonically.

Yes. Platonically.

Chandler frowns. “They haven’t found anything else, have they?”

“Yeah, they have, actually.”

Heather can feel the color draining from her face. Goddamn it. Goddamn it, she’d just got Veronica back on side, Veronica liked her, probably the one person who genuinely did (even if it was just a part of her) and now Heather was gonna lose her again to a blood clot or infection or heart cancer –

“They found,” Veronica continued, quite calmly, “that my hip fracture is all healed up, and there are no changes to the brain scan. Bar any further injuries, I’ll soon be free and clear.”

“…You said it like that deliberately, didn’t you?”

Veronica’s face split into a shit-eating grin.

“Christ, Veronica, you almost gave me a heart attack!”

“Good thing we’re in a hospital then, aren’t we?”

“Oh, fuck you.”

Veronica laughed nervously. “Sorry, but, your _face_ …” She shook her head. “It’s nice to know you care about me that much, though.”

That was probably the second-least comforting thing Veronica could have said.

“Of course I care,” Heather muttered. “Is that all he said?”

“Hardly. Good news for you – you don’t have to pretend to be Cousin Rosie anymore. While I can’t leave yet – whole lotta things are still broken – I’ll be able to have visitors from outside my family soon.”

“It’s nice to know you care about me” got shunted down to third in the list of non-comforting things. Heather had been able to control the flow of information up until now – no doubt Martha Dumptruck and Trenchcoat McGee were gonna pay a visit and spill the beans of how terrible Heather is to both of them. JD might not be trusted, sure, but Martha definitely would be, and Veronica would believe her over Heather, surely. What was the solution? Kill Martha? Make Veronica more injured than she already was to keep the visitors away? Chandler had standards, of course, both of those options were off the table, but what else could she do?

 “What’s wrong?” Veronica asked, before a shade of a smile returned to her face. “Don’t you wanna share me?”

 _I don’t, but that’s not the point._ “Veronica, what’s the last grade you remember being in?”

“…Why’s that important?”

Heather removes her hand from Veronica’s to fidget. “I’m not sure how to put this, exactly. Your classmates might’ve… well, they have changed from what you remember. There are some new faces, too, ones who know you but you don’t know them. You might get conflicting information about things, is all.”

Veronica’s pen hovered over the journal. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that there’s a lot of people who don’t like me. They think I’m a bad person, so they might have a different point of view of how I treated you before this.”

“Were you bad to me?”

“No.” Mostly true. “We did a lot of things before… that. We played croquet in your backyard, and we saw movies and went on shopping trips together. I still have these pictures – you and me in a photo booth, and us on the croquet lawn – they’re on the door to my locker. We’re good friends.”

“So, why would people think you hate me?”

No response.

“Heather?”

“The night you got hit. We were at a party, and we had an argument.”

“What about?”

_You did the right thing the wrong way. You went against me in a public place, and I couldn’t be seen as weak._

_You chose_ her _over_ me.

“Nothing. It’s stupid, now,” Heather replied. “After the fight, I guess you thought you wouldn’t have a ride home – you did. I was mad, but I wasn’t gonna let you wander home drunk. You assumed otherwise.”

“Wait, so we had a fight, and you _still_ wanted to make sure I got home safe?”

“I didn’t…”

_Want you to do anything without my say-so. I didn’t want you to rally your loser friends to support you. I wanted you to stew in your misery and your knowledge I was the gracious one._

“…I didn’t want you to get hurt,” Heather finished.

Veronica smiled. She reached out, and took Heather’s hand back. “Well, in that case, you’re better than people give you credit for.”

Heather froze. Was silent for slightly longer than was comfortable.

“What? Did I say something wrong?”

“No. You said what you thought. It’s what I like about you, in a weird way.” Another pause. “Do you really think I’m a good person?”

“Well, I remember you as good person, and, I mean, you lied to hospital staff, but it was so you could visit me, and… talk to me and ask me how I’m doing and checking everything’s okay. All things a good person would do. So, yes. I don’t just think you’re good, I _know_ you’re good.”

“…Thank you, Veronica.”

Veronica’s face lit up once more, and for a moment, things were okay.

 

-

 

_Heather Chandler knows what she is. I asked her. Part of me knows that she probably only let me be in her group so she could use me to get out of gym class, but part of me hoped she was doing Nice Person Things™ by actually treating me well. I don’t think she knows what the word FRIEND means what with the way she talks about Heather Duke but I asked her when we were doing the lunchtime poll._

_She does not care that she’s a piranha. A piranha in a small pond. I know when she gets out into the big wide world where no-one knows or gives a shit about who she is that she’ll realize just how pointless all her bitchiness is and that her life has been a waste._

_But for now she doesn’t care._

 

Heather threw the diary at the wall, pacing around the room like a caged beast, until she didn’t have the energy to stand.

 

-

 

She’d been doing a wider lap of the cafeteria on her lunchtime polls. Asking questions of people she normally wouldn’t bother with. These dregs of society were ecstatic to get the attention, but one wrong word would take that away.

This was generosity. Something so rare shouldn’t be taken for granted.

Chandler had once again reached Martha Dunnstock and Jason Dean’s table. The paper of the clipboard sat askew from its normal position.

“Two questions today. One for each of you,” Chandler announced.

“I have a question for you, too,” JD quipped, “is this a transparent attempt to interrogate us for information on Veronica?”

“ _No_. Christ, not everything is about her. I have other things in my life to worry about.” She turned to Martha. “You’re an EMT at the scene of a car crash. There are two people involved – your best friend and someone who hates your guts. Your best friend got busted up really bad by the crash, and probably won’t pull through even if you did get to work immediately. Meanwhile, the person who hates you has a serious gash to their neck that needs pressure put on it, or they’ll die. You’re the only person around that can help them. Do you save the person more likely to pull through and let your friend die, or do you work on your friend and risk having both of them bleed out?”

“I…” Martha paused, frowning. “I’d put pressure on the neck wound and then see what I can do for my friend.”

“Really? This asshole isn’t gonna thank you. The one person who likes you is gonna go away forever.”

“Better to save one than lose both. Besides, I think my friend would want me to save them.”

Chandler’s expression was just shy of a glare, but too marred by confusion to earn that title. “…Uh- _huh_.” Shaking her head, she turned to JD. “Dean. _Special_ question for you.”

“I’m all ears,” JD replied, with a grim smirk.

“I don’t need your ears. I need your eyes.”

Heather lifted up her paper, and spread the photographs evenly over the table. All of them showed the same bright red Beemer, with a large dent on the right side of the hood.

“Is this the car you saw the night Veronica was hit?”

JD’s face was like thunder, eyes dark and angry. Heather could see his jaw clench as he picked up one of the polaroids.

“I thought you said this wasn’t about her,” he growled. “Are you taunting me? Do you know the fucker who did it?”

“Pretty sure taunting you would result in my untimely death, so no. Never even met the guy, I just noticed this in the parking lot the other day, and asked around.” Heather leaned in, conspiratorial, ignoring the aura of hatred. “Apparently, he had an accident a little over a month ago – had to replace the windscreen, but didn’t have enough cash left over to fix the other damage. It matches up pretty well with our timeline, and I know Veronica’s head hit the glass… but it might just be a coincidence. You’re the only witness. Is this the car?”

Jason spent two agonizing minutes studying each of the pictures, staring at them with such intensity Heather was surprised they didn’t burst into flame in front of him.

“The lighting was different,” he muttered, “it was just the streetlamps, but… I recognize the color. The model. This is the car that hit her.”

“Well, if you’re willing to sign a witness statement, maybe the police department will finally get off their asses -”

“Why are you doing this?” JD interrupted.

Heather blinked, her face an emotionless mask. “I want justice, Dean. I thought I made that clear.”

She tucked half of the photos back into her clipboard and strode off, leaving Jason with a burning vengeance and Martha with a million more questions.

 

-

 

“Last name?”

“Duke.”

The nurse nodded, then turned to McNamara. “And what’s your name, sweetie?”

“Heather.”

“And last name?” The nurse said after a moment, frowning.

“McNamara. Did I say something wrong?”

“No, no, just…” the nurse shook her head. “Both of you got the same name. Just one o’ those funny little coincidences, I guess.” She looked up at their escort, Chandler, the one girl she recognized. “Just so ya know, there’s only two visitors allowed in the room at one time. She’s still a little fragile, so we don’t wanna stress her out too much. Is that okay with you?”

Heather shrugged. “I’ll wait outside the room, then. No biggie.”

“Great, perfect. You need me to show you to the room?”

“No, I know the way by now.” _I swear, if I see those abomination-unto-god shoes one more time, I will scream._

“Just remember to announce yourselves, so she doesn’t get startled.”

“We will. Thank you.”

The clack-clack heels on the linoleum floor only exacerbated the uncomfortable silence between the three. It _was_ a biggie that Chandler had pretty much relinquished her control over Duke and McNamara – there was a lot of information they could spill, McNamara out of ignorance and Duke out of spite, that could ruin Heather and Veronica’s fragile friendship. Maybe she shouldn’t have bothered skipping last period to get a head start on JD and Martha, maybe this was just gonna make things a million times worse –

Whoops. She almost missed the door. The other two would have noticed the way she backtracked, but Heather stood tall and put on her best glare in an attempt to make sure they were too intimidated to mention it.

“One thing before you go in,” Chandler warned them, “do _not_ mention the party. At _all_. I’ve told her all she needs to know about that. Remember, I’m right outside – I’ll hear every. Word. You say.”

“Right,” Duke replied, like a soldier to her commander.  

“What about everything else we did?” McNamara asked.

“Use your judgement on that one. Be nice, and do not _fuck_ me.” Taking a moment to compose herself, she knocks on the doorframe. “Veronica?”

“Oh, hey, Heather. You’re out of school early.”

“Yeah, I am. Heather and Heather are here to see how you’re doing.”

Veronica paused. Heather heard the sound of pages being turned. “Oh! Come in!”

McNamara practically bounded inside, while Duke waited to Chandler to nod before entering.

Leaning back against the wall, Heather closed her eyes. McNamara sounded excited to be there, at least, if a bit nervous, and Veronica was chatting away happily.

“I remember,” she was telling them, “you used to bring cookies for everyone all the time, you made them with your dad, you said, you wanted to be a baker when you were older. And you – you and Martha were practically joined at the hip since that summer camp you went to!”

Oh?

Chandler poked her head into the room. None of the occupants seemed to notice her. Duke, who must have already looked like she’d seen a ghost before Veronica started speaking, now had an expression of pure horror on her face.

“That’s right,” McNamara said slowly. “You used to have these big books, and she’d listen to you read them. Under that tree in the yard.”

“Did I say something wrong?” Veronica questioned.

Duke’s eyes flicked to the door, and her soul practically left her body when she saw Chandler peering at her.

“We’re not friends anymore,” Duke squeaked out, “we… drifted apart.”

Veronica looked genuinely sad. “I’m sorry to hear that. Well, maybe you can reconnect before you leave for college. We’re in senior year, right?”

With some effort, and McNamara’s assistance, Veronica was able to get the conversation back on track, and Heather returned to her spot outside the door.

Duke used to be friends with Martha Dumptruck, huh? Chandler was honestly surprised she ever had any friends before her (and, of course, calling the two ‘friends’ was such a stretch of the imagination Walt Disney would have a stroke trying to comprehend it). Girl never actually wanted to talk unless it was about some book character she’d got the hots for. It had been a struggle to get Duke to contribute to conversation, but the girl in green never quite got the hang of where the line was when it came to what was appropriate.

Regardless. It had been Duke who told Chandler about Martha’s hopeless crush, Duke who contributed to the idea of the letter, and Duke who thought it’d be a good idea to make that pig pinata look like Dunnstock. While the latter two also had Heather’s influence written all over them, she’d own up to that, Duke had known Chandler for long enough to get a clue as to what she’d do with the information. She’d meant her old best friend emotional harm.

While she’d been taking the blame for a lot of things lately, Chandler didn’t feel like this was her fault. At least, not entirely.

She spotted movement out of the corner of her eye – yellow and green.

“She wants to talk to you, now,” Duke announces, her voice still a little shaky.

“Her book is red,” McNamara notes. “Why is it red?”

A shock of cold shot through Heather again. They know the diary wasn’t lost, as she’d claimed to Veronica. “I’ll show you later. Heather, you can take Heather home, can’t you?”

“Yeah. Car’s in the parking lot.”

“Then do it. Your _old friend_ might get here soon – do you really wanna be there for that?”

Duke paled again, but the fear was tinged with just a hint of sadness and hesitation. “…No. I guess not. Bye, Heather. See you tomorrow, maybe.”

Heather hummed in response. Maybe, maybe sooner than that. They might need to see why Chandler had swapped out the diaries, and, given they seemed to be having a good time in there, they should understand her reasons.

But, no. Now it was Veronica’s turn for attention.

 

She seemed to be energized by whatever Duke and McNamara had discussed with her. Veronica’s eyes were sparkling in a way Chandler hadn’t seen for what feels like years.

“It’s nice to know I have other friends besides you,” she said, with a lop-sided smile. “Heather McNamara is a ray of sunshine, isn’t she? Head Cheerleader, too, apparently. I’m not surprised. Heather Duke was quiet. I mean, I remember her as quiet, but she seemed spooked when I mentioned Martha. Why?”

Heather mulled over the question for a moment. “I don’t know. I didn’t remember that until you brought it up – she had to have been keeping that info close to her chest.”

“I don’t get that. Why would you want to keep a friendship secret? They’re your friend.”

“Maybe…” Heather sighs. “Maybe people don’t like the person you’re friends with for whatever reason. And, if you say that you’re pals with them, they won’t like you either, and life will get harder for you.”

The brightness fades, replaced by a frown. “Why? The Martha I know wouldn’t hurt anyone. Did she do something? Why don’t people like her?”

_They don’t feel that strongly about her, really. She’s an easy target. That’s all._

“Honestly? I dunno. Real life is unfair like that.”

Veronica huffed in annoyance. Then, that too dissolved into another emotion. “Heather?”

“Hm?”

“Are you keeping me a secret, too?”

It was a sad, soft little voice. Heather wanted to say “no” straight away just to make her feel better, but that was a lie easily contradicted.

“I haven’t told anyone you’re here to keep you safe,” Heather said instead. “Martha told me where you were after I spent a week trying to track you down, and she was…”

“…What?”

_Fuck._

“She was so _scared_ I was gonna hurt you somehow. She knew we argued. And… I don’t want that to happen. I don’t want to feel like that. You’re not a secret because I’m ashamed, it’s so no-one will be cruel to you.”

Veronica took an eternity to process that, eyes down, looking confused and scared and dismayed. She took a breath, as if to say something, about four times, and each time Heather braced for the worst. It was the wrong course of action, she knew, eventually Veronica would find out the truth and real life would hit her like a truck, but…

It was selfish. What Heather was doing was selfish to its core.

“Heather, can you come here for a sec?”

Cautiously, Chandler approached the bedside. Sat down on the familiar plastic chair.

“If this is secret,” Veronica continued, “can I do something to you?”

“Please don’t punch me in the face.”

Veronica blinked, then there was a nervous bark of laughter. “No. I won’t. It’s a nice thing.”

“…Okay. Do the nice thing, then.”

Veronica beckoned again. Heather, against her better judgement, leaned in towards her.

Surprisingly soft lips pressed against Heather’s cheek.

“I’m sorry,” Veronica blurted out, pulling away, “that was the wrong choice, I should have asked you properly, I just thought if I was a secret you’d be fine with it again, I’m sorry -”

“What? No, it’s okay, Ronnie, you just surprised me.”

“Really? ‘Cause you look like you’re about to cry.”

That might have been true, actually. She certainly felt like it. “I’m sure. I just… didn’t expect it, is all. I liked it. I promise.”

“Cross your heart?”

Heather put a hand on her chest. “And hope to die.”

Veronica’s shoulders softened, just a touch. This was a lot for Heather to take in. Was she just that good? She did actually like Veronica, but that had been buried deep down with all the parts of herself that weren’t for public viewing. Veronica’d just unearthed all of that in her innocent gesture, and…

Would she still feel this way if she knew about the face Heather puts on for everybody else? If she had her real diary, would she think that Heather telling the truth about herself was all some trick?

Probably. She’d be smart to do so, too. But she wasn’t right now. Right now, Veronica was leaning into her, and Heather had an arm around her shoulder, playing with Veronica’s hair, and doing something so gentle and kind felt so _right_ and so _wrong_ at the same time.

Heather shut her eyes tight, and waited for reality to punish her for dreaming, as it always did.

 


	4. Infernum

_Heather Duke. How do I begin to describe Heather Duke? If Heather Chandler is a shark then she’s a remora. If Heather C comes up with some scheme to fuck with someone’s life Heather D is there to make it ten times worse for the poor bastard who happens to get in their way. I don’t know if she does it to be in Heather’s good graces (which isn’t working) or because she genuinely wants to make everyone around her as miserable and disgusted as possible. ~~Maybe it’s like a parasitic thing and she feeds off other people’s personalities to make up for her lack of one~~_

_And Heather McNamara? Heather McNamara doesn’t do anything. Sure she doesn’t come up with any evil plans herself but she goes along with them all the same. I’m not even sure if she even knows what she does is wrong and hurts people, she just acts like that’s the way the world works. Thank god she didn’t find her way into an actual cult cause she’d fall for that alien god story hook line and sinker._

_The thing is, the thing with ALL the Heathers is, THEY COULD BE BETTER. I KNOW they’re all human, I KNOW they have their own problems like the rest of us mortals, I KNOW they can all be kind or at the very least NOT act like they’re competing for a position as head torturer of the damned._

_BUT THEY DON’T. I’VE TRIED TO MAKE THEM CHANGE BUT THEY WON’T._

_They’re so goddamn selfish I can feel my soul getting darker every second I’m with them. But I can’t leave. I made a deal with the devils and I’m paying the price._

It was a somber reading. Heather tried to keep any emotion, sympathetic or otherwise, out of her voice as she recited the entry to her audience. She feels the energy in the room grow cold, flat, despondent. They stare blankly ahead as they hear Veronica’s unfettered thoughts.

Chandler closed the diary gently, and tucked it away in its hiding place. “Do you get it now?”

“She doesn’t like me,” McNamara murmured, her voice shaking. “I haven’t done anything to her. I’ve been nice to her. Why does she not like me?”

Good Lord. This might have been the first time in her life McNamara’d been faced with this kind of problem. If they didn’t like her position, they certainly liked Daddy’s money. Neither would be enough to win over Veronica.

“We’ve been mean to others. She thinks things should be different. That we should be nicer to other people as well,” Duke replied.

“There’s a fine line between being _nice_ and being a pushover,” Chandler added. “Crossing it would be even worse than being hated – it’d make you a target.”

“Then what do I do?”

No answer from either of her friends. McNamara wouldn’t know where the line was if it slapped her in the face. If not for Chandler’s tutelage, she’d still be at the bottom of the pyramid, if she was even on the team to begin with.

…Oh, yeah. This was Heather’s doing, wasn’t it? _Great_.

“Easy,” Chandler answered, after a period of time that implied it wasn’t, “she likes you _now_. Just keep doing what you’re doing, and whenever she asks about a time you weren’t, be as vague about it as possible.”

“That’s what _you’ve_ been doing, isn’t it?” asked Duke, dubious.

“Well, it’s still Veronica. She’s just as sharp, and if you keep things from her, she’ll pick up on that.”

“Like the diary.”

Uuuugh. “Yes. Like the diary.”

“And you want her to like you because…?”

_Because I like her back._

But she couldn’t say that, could she? Duke hated her. Duke wanted to keep her place without the torture of having Chandler controlling her every move and punishing her for having a single toe out of line, every sign of weakness. If she said that, Duke would use that weakness like a knife to stab Heather in the back, like she herself had threatened to do to Duke many times over.

Again. Chandler’s fault. Just another way her web of lies and threats was coming back to wrap itself around her neck.

But the others were still expecting an answer, and she didn’t have one that wouldn’t make them suspicious.

“Because it’s the nicest thing to do? Because maybe I feel sorry for her? I don’t know, Heather. I don’t know.”

 

-

 

“Heather! Look!”

Veronica had steadily been getting more animated since Heather’s first visit, but now she was grinning from ear to ear. It was a different room than the one they were used to, and there were a few new things to see – a vase full of tiny blue flowers, a bear with ‘get well soon’ embroidered on its foot, and the red journal, proudly displayed on the table by the bedside.

There was also a pair of crutches.

“Up and walking already, are you?” said Heather. “That was quick. I thought you broke both your legs.”

“Nah, just a sprain on one, the other took most of the damage. The good news is that I remember how to walk.”

Good lord. It was so easy to forget Veronica was a mélange of misery, what with the aggressive optimism. Brain injury, broken ribs, fractured hip, a leg that was probably more metal pins than bone now, _and_ a bad shoulder – though, at least that last one had been crossed off the list. The doctors here weren’t _completely_ incompetent, it seemed.

“There’s a little courtyard a few hallways over. I could use the walk, what with being bed-bound for I don’t know how long.”

Heather frowned, then sighed. “Lead the way.”

 

Veronica was _not_ fast. Not that Heather expected her to be – Hell, she didn’t expect Veronica to be _upright_. Yet, here she was, grimacing with the effort of every step. What that did, apart from making Heather feel a twinge in her chest, was it gave her time to think.

Nothing about the meeting with Martha and JD. It happened, Heather was ninety-nine percent sure of this, yet Veronica either didn’t remember or was too distracted by the arduous task of walking to think of it as important. There were so many things that could have gone wrong, so many ugly truths to tell, and yet…

Heather couldn’t bring herself to regret her actions. Not all of them, anyway. She knew they were wrong, she wasn’t stupid evil, but she also knew Westerburg had a mean streak running through its halls, a culture built on the haves- and the have-nots. She couldn’t change that. She simply took advantage of it, gave herself a relatively comfortable four years before she fucked off forever. If she didn’t, no doubt someone else would. It was not her fault. It wasn’t.

It _wasn’t_. She just played the system, that in itself wasn’t wrong. Yeah, some of what she did may have gone overboard, but she couldn’t change that. She wasn’t…

Veronica tapped on Heather’s shoulder, startling her out of her contemplation. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt. We’re here.”

It wasn’t much, really. Made of simple sandstone, grass peeking through the gaps in the paving, untended ferns encroaching on the limited space the patients had available. Veronica closed her eyes and took that breath of fresh air, that little freedom afforded to her. If this was enough to make her happy, Heather would tolerate it.

“Now, Martin said there was a hiding space here… Oh, yeah, I see it. Behind that massive fern. It’s like a little privacy screen – no-one’ll be able to see us through the door.”

“Who is Martin, and how does he know about this spot?”

“He’s a patient, and I’ve been trying not to remember that.”

Having inched herself slowly onto the stone seat, Veronica patted a spot next to her. Against her better judgement, Heather complied, and Veronica almost immediately nuzzled into her neck.

Heather… wasn’t really good with feelings. When it came to her own, anyway. Below bottom tier when it came to naming and controlling her emotions – bar anger, of course. As such, she just let the feelings of warmth wash over, savored the peace and relief. It was a precious thing. A pure thing.

“Any fun stuff happen today?”

“Apart from seeing you?” Heather hummed. “Not really.”

Veronica grinned. “Charmer. Well, Martha came to visit earlier. She didn’t bring the guy from last time, though.”

There it is.

“Tell me more.”

“Well, we’re doing _Death of a Salesman_ in English class, Economics is a pain in the butt, she’s _still_ not dating Ram, Heather Duke _still_ hasn’t talked to her, but you’re being nicer.”

…What?

Seriously, what? That didn’t – _what_? Was Martha’s life really so miserable that _not_ being a heinous soul-sucking bitch to her every moment of the day was being _nice_? Well, beat her brains out with a solid gold dildo, if it was that easy to be _nice_ , Veronica’s idea that people were inherently good went _right_ out the fucking window.

“You’re including her in the lunchtime polls – I dunno what those are, exactly, but it’s a good thing, apparently, and you’re listening to her opinions and taking them on. That guy doesn’t think so, though. He thinks you’re using her, or making fun of her, somehow. He really doesn’t like you.”

“If it is who I think it is, I’m not surprised. Not only is he a rebel for rebellion’s sake, he’s also wrong. I’m not doing either of those things to Martha. I promise you that.”

“I believe you.” So easily? “You’re trying to make things better, I’m sure of it. May I kiss you?”

Heather smiled. “Since you asked so nicely…”

It was on the lips, this time. Soft, surprisingly so. Sweet, unsure. Probably the best Heather’d ever had. She returned it, just as gentle, fingers rising to cradle Veronica’s jaw. Barely there. Afraid of breaking the blessed quiet in her head or the lightness in her chest or Veronica herself.

Veronica pressed in closer, her hand over Heather’s, and Heather couldn’t bring herself to care about anything but that.

 

-

 

There was something wrong, today.

Heather couldn’t quite work out what it was. Nothing to do with the school – the teachers were fine, acting like they always did, only vaguely interested in their job – but there was something in the way people looked at her that put her on edge. It wasn’t hate or mockery, so they can’t have found out about the whole ‘gay’ thing. The challenge now was figuring out what other secrets of hers the student body had discovered.

Heather got her answer when she walked into Dennis’ little corner of the world. While normally on point with her lunchtime poll questions, she’d been struggling to think of one that wasn’t a variation on “what are you not telling me?”

Dennis practically jumped out of his seat when she entered. Unless something really interesting had happed in politics, he shouldn’t have been this excited.

“Heather. A very important question for you.”

Heather crossed her arms instinctively. “Shoot.”

Dennis was about to launch into whatever it was, when he suddenly stopped. His eyes flickered, his lips moved, but no sound came out.

“This… now that I think about it, you may not be the best person to ask, but considering who it came from…” he fell silent again, before asking, “would you know?”

“Couldn’t tell you until I know what it is. Spill, Newshound.”

“Veronica… have you heard anything about where Veronica is?”

Every muscle in Heather’s body tensed.

“Last I heard, you were in the dark just as much as I was. Why?”

“I only got the news today,” replied Dennis, looking away, “she was the victim of a hit-and-run. She’s in hospital, almost died. Do you know if that’s true?”

Well, yes. She did know.

Dennis shouldn’t.

There were a million thoughts flying through her mind. Confusion, anger, despair, a need for someone to punish for exposing this, answers, all roiling beneath the waves, breaking the surface for moment before being replaced. Martha? Martha was the only one who really had the right. Was it JD, trying to shove the blame onto her yet again?

“Who told you that?”

“Well, I heard it from Peter-” – Well, of course – “-who heard it from Allison-” – Yes, that made sense – “who heard it from Courtney-” – _Fucking Courtney_ – “-who apparently heard it from Heather McNamara.”

All of the noise in Heather’s head just… stopped. “Seriously? Of all people… Heather?”

“That’s what I heard,” Dennis replied, “I haven’t had the chance to ask her personally. Do you know if it’s true, though?”

“Excuse me. I have to speak with her.”

“Wait, no, answer the question-!”

Like Heather would ever wait.

 

While Dennis’ sarcasm, relentlessness and his complete disregard for her privacy grated on Chandler, she did at least respect him for his dedication. He was an ethical rumormonger – he fact-checked his information, if only to protect his and his newspaper’s reputation. Courtney wasn’t – she’d latch on to any opportunity to shame someone, and the obvious target of this was Chandler.

And McNamara… McNamara, the only person out of those who knew who’d spill the beans on accident – and, let’s face it, unless something radically changed since the last time Heather saw her, it probably _was_ just a matter of her forgetting who should know what.

Chandler’s suspicions (and fears) are confirmed when they meet up for lunch – McNamara had the look of a rabbit faced with the gaping, slavering maw of a hunting hound.

“I forgot,” she squeaked, “I forgot she didn’t know, but I mentioned what Veronica told me the other day, and she asked where I saw her, and – I mean, I didn’t tell her which hospital she was in.”

“Heather, how many hospitals are there in this county?”

“One.” A pause. “Right. I see the problem.”

Heather nodded, never taking her eyes of McNamara. “There are so many leaps of logic she could make with whatever you said, and all of them are gonna be bad for us _and_ for Veronica. You know that, right?”

“…I didn’t mean to.”

Heather’s eyes flickered over those still in the locker room. While there was little doubt some of them were trying to listen in, no-one was too close. No-one would hear exactly what Chandler said.

That was important.

“I believe you,” she replied, “and I won’t give you any more shit over it. You can’t change what’s been done.” McNamara’s shoulders dropped in relief, but tensed again when Heather raised a finger. “ _However_ , other people are definitely gonna ask questions. Deny everything, and apologize to Veronica when you see her again for making her life that much harder.”

“Right. I’ll do that.”

“Write it down, so you won’t forget.”

“Write it…”

McNamara fished a pen out of her locker, and scribbled on her hand all the way to the cafeteria.

 

-

 

The Lunchtime Poll question for today was ‘If you could commit one crime and get away with it, what would it be?’. Heather was, rightfully, proud of it – see who was willing to break the law (no doubt there were some who’d go the straight and narrow and turn down the offer) and what exactly they’d do with their get-out-of-jail-free card (and get potential leads on what crime any future felons will end up jail for).

Nobody wanted to answer her great question, though. Well except JD, but he just said “you’ll see”. Everyone wanted to ask _her_ questions, instead, willfully ignorant of how the whole system worked.

“Heather, did you hear about what happened to Veronica?”

“Do you know if Veronica died?”

“Did she lose a leg? What about an arm? Her head?”

“Do you think cars should be banned?”

“Did you try to kill her for barfing on you…? Don’t look at me like that! It’s what Courtney said!”

Fucking. _Courtneyyy_.

Honestly, Heather shouldn’t have been as angry as she was with her. Courtney was a minor player, with all the charm and personality of a styrofoam cup underneath the layers of self-righteousness and passive-aggressive behavior. She probably didn’t even straight-up accuse Chandler of the crime, despite Rodney’s claims – probably gave him just enough information for his own fucked head to fill in the gaps on his own.

She smiled as Heather came up to the country club kids’ table, the sort of face a cat wore after it left half a mouse in your favorite shoes. “Why, hello, Heather! An uneventful trip to school, I hope? My heart aches for anyone who dares get in your way.”

“It was definitely a red car,” added Kyle, the police chief’s kid. A man in charge of a whole four people – like that was something for his youngest to brag about. “I didn’t make the connection until I heard, but it makes so much sense, now.”

Keith put an arm around Courtney’s shoulder. “Now, now. There’s nothing wrong with being cut-throat. It’s how people survive in the business world.” He looked up to Heather. “I’m sure _your dad_ would be proud of you.”

Heather didn’t say anything. Didn’t move, kept her face slate-blank as the thinly-veiled accusations were thrown in her face. Only Keith would ever mention her father for any reason – daddy issues abound with that dickweed, probably threatened that Heather’s dad was in New York while his was stuck in Cleveland.

…Honestly. Why had she been kissing these guys’ asses for so long? Yeah, their families had status in town, but the progeny weren’t living up to the hype. The burnouts at the back of the school were completely disconnected from reality, but at least they were interesting. Those nerds at the window, they’d probably orgasm if she brushed by them in the hallway, but they bent over backwards for her. Even that girl geek squad in the middle – there was no fake politeness from them. Every word out of their mouths was so sweet it almost made Heather sick, but it was genuine.

Fuck it. Chandler was the biggest name here. She could do this without these backstabbing bastards.

Still, best be careful. No emotion in her voice. “Are you ready for the Lunchtime Poll, Courtney?”

“Always.”

“You’re going to Hell. Which circle do you think you’ll end up in?”

There was a flash in Courtney’s eyes, the arm around her shoulder grew protective, but still she smiled. “Let she who is without sin cast the first stone.”

“Why? You’re not letting that stop you.” The smile faltered. Self-doubt. “I think you’d end up in the eighth circle, that’s where the frauds and liars go. For all your talk of Jesus Christ, I don’t see you doing anything he says. Like, he’s all about loving thy neighbor and being humble and giving to charity. You just act like going to church every Sunday gives you a free pass to act like your shit don’t stink. News flash – you gotta be a _real_ good person to get into heaven, not just act like one.”

Keith rose from his seat, just slightly. “Like you really have any right to talk. You punched her in the face! You demean and bully anyone who doesn’t bow to your whims!”

“Which I’ve been pulling back on, if you’d been paying attention. Besides, your girlfriend’s accused me of attempted murder. Which circle will _you_ end up in, Keith? Greed or Lust?”

“I – Greed.”

“ _Your dad_ can’t pay you out of that one, huh?” Heather turned to Kyle. “Which circle?”

Kyle was stony-faced. “Wrath, maybe. But, you have a bright red car-”

“How many cars in the parking lot are bright red?”

“Three, but you have the motive.”

“I have an alibi. I was at the party ‘til 2:30. You know who wasn’t? A-”

An explosion.

 

-

 

Heather should have seen it coming, really. She really should have.

Jason Dean, son of Big Bud Dean, Demolitionist. He solved his problems with explosives, and clearly the cops weren’t working fast enough for his liking. Contrary to his own belief, JD was not the arbiter of justice.

No-one was injured, apart from some hearing damage, but that didn’t stop emergency services. Ambulance checked everyone over, fire department put out the car, police cordoned off the area and asked some questions. No-one in the parking lot saw anything, apparently.

The owner wasn’t happy about that.

He screamed. He raged, yelled at the officers for not doing enough for his baby. How he’d just spent so much money on fixing the windscreen, how he had just saved enough for the dent on the bonnet.

The police took him away to ask him some questions. He didn’t come back.

The principal sent everyone home for the day, and Chandler spotted Dean in sea of teens rushing to leave.

 

-

 

“Veronica? There's a Heather Chandler here to see you.”

“Send her in.”

Chandler needed this. A fucking bomb, or at least a firecracker or something. A car fire. That messed you up, even when you weren’t the target. She needed someone separate from the situation to talk to, but most importantly, she needed Veronica.

Veronica, her line to a better, simpler place. Someone who was gentle and affectionate and fun and sharp at all the right times. Someone who didn’t fear her, who didn’t hate her.

Yet, there was something off about the way Veronica said that. There was a sadness and an anger in her eyes when Chandler entered. No getting up to greet Heather, as she’d done before. She sat on the edge of her hospital bed, silent and judging.

On her lap was a blue diary.

 


	5. Ad Lucem

At 8 A.M. that Monday morning, Veronica Sawyer hobbled through the front doors to face her fate.

Better late than never, Heather thought to herself.

The murmuring crowd parted like the Red Sea to let her through. Perhaps it was the look in her eyes, barely-concealed rage underneath that veil of bitterness, the look of someone with little left to lose. Perhaps people overheard her threat to beat Ram Sweeney to death with her crutch and weren’t willing to stand in harm’s way.

Perhaps, like Heather, they had realized they didn’t want this moment as much as they first thought.

She heard her voice over the chatter, and every sentence sent a knife through Heather’s heart. “…you had ages to come up with a good line, Kurt, and all you have for me is ‘Vom-ronica’? We’re not twelve anymore… I didn’t need your fake charity in the hospital and I don’t need it now, Courtney… Don’t get me started on _you_ , Peter…”

“Heather?”

Chandler managed not to jump a foot in the air, reducing her show of surprise to a sharp inhale. The voice wasn’t immediately familiar – male, a little shaky.

“Veronica’s back,” he said.

“I know. I’ve got eyes.”

“Oh, well, yeah. They’re really pretty, you know.”

Heather was not going to entertain this bullshit today. She looked over her shoulder, then up. A member of the basketball team whose name escaped her, with a timid smile. It dropped when he saw the look on Heather’s face.

“There a reason you’re bothering me?”

“Uh, well, you said you were gonna do something to her for that party thing. So I’m letting you know.”

Heather shook her head. “I’m not doing anything.”

“But, you said -”

“I know what I said. That’s old news, we’ve moved on with our lives. Besides, there’s nothing I can do to make her suffer more than she has…”

Whatshisface definitely noticed her trail off, not that Heather really cared about him. There was something far more important than that.

Veronica was looking at her.

She was still obviously pissed with Heather, no doubt, but Chandler thought she spotted the faintest hint of curiosity in her eyes. Maybe hope. Or, maybe Heather was just deluding herself again.

“She’s been hurt enough already,” Heather finished.

There was conflict on Veronica’s face, for a split second. She turned towards Heather, and she looked like she was about to step forward, to say something, Heather’s heard skipped a beat –

But then, Veronica froze. Her face darkened. Whatever she was thinking about doing to Heather, she’d changed her mind.

Heather watched her storm off (and she pulled it off well, despite the delay), ignoring the unknown baller’s repeated attempts to get her attention.

What was wrong with what she said?

 

-

 

_“You lied to me. You lied to me the whole time!”_

_“No, I promise, I didn’t, not about -”_

_“This was all just a… a torture technique, wasn’t it?! Getting peoples’ hopes up before crushing them into the dirt is your M.O.!”_

_“I’m better than that, now, Veronica, I -”_

_“You what? Is ‘better’ hiding things from me to protect yourself? Is ‘better’ making me think we were actually friends? Do you think stealing from me makes you_ better _?!”_

 _“Well, shit, Veronica! I’m not stupid! I know you think everyone in this town bar Martha is either a hopeless idiot or a complete monster, and frankly I don’t blame you. But, you_ so _want people to change, you_ so _want people to be nicer and good and young and dumb again but_ you won’t let them _! You won’t accept that people have to grow up, and if they do what you want for some reason, you think they’re faking it! Tell me, if you had remembered what I was like to you in high school instead of in kindergarten, would you believe me when I said I didn’t hate you?”_

_“I – no. I wouldn’t.”_

_“Exactly! I know what I’ve done wasn’t always necessary, but I promise you, I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t hate you, I wasn’t lying when I said regret what I did, and I_ definitely _wasn’t lying when I said I have feelings for you! And, you’re right, I shouldn’t have tried to hide how awful life really is, but you always wanted things to be simple and people to be good. I thought that, in the long run, knowing that would have hurt you more.”_

_“…You really think that, do you?”_

_“That’s the truth_.”

_“…Get out.”_

 

-                                                                                                                          

 

“Okay, so, you’ve done something that your best friend majorly objects to. What have you done, and what can you do to make it up to them?”

“Nothing. I don’t have a best friend.”

“That sounds like a ‘you’ thing, but okay. Well, I guess it can be someone else important. You’ve done something your sister or your brother thinks is only slightly better than murder.”

“Don’t have siblings.”

“Your dad?”

“Don’t have one of those, either.”

“…Goddamn, Rodney. You’re killing me.”

Heather was getting an early start on the poll, today. No real reason to it. Definitely didn’t have anything to do with the question she picked today, or what prompted that brainwave. Being alone with her thoughts for more than five minute wasn’t suddenly agony, nosiree, she definitely wasn’t racking her brains as to what she had said that was wrong and doubting her actions at the worst time and place to be vulnerable –

Ah, hell. She was out of practice with lying to herself, too. She used to be so good at it.

Leaving Rodney’s sad, sad, life behind, Heather went about her rounds, practically pleading with her peers to help her fix this particular problem. A few, anyway. Jason Dean was no longer there to tell her everything that was wrong with her. Moved away, from what the rumor mill told her, another whole new town with things to blow up. A blessing, of course, though she admits the table on the far left wall looked emptier without him.

Heather didn’t mean to look at them so much. Contrary to popular belief, she _wasn’t_ a sucker for punishment, but the occupants of the loser table actually meant something to her. It was like a knife, stabbing into her stomach, sharp and cold. Martha, waiting expectantly, or Veronica refusing to look at anyone (Heather’s heart stopped, seeing her like this).

Heather Duke. The only reason Chandler bothered to tear her eyes away from the broken girl was because Duke was staring at her, eyes bright, wide and pleading.

 

_“What possessed you to do this?! Did you steal it from me when I was out of the room – robbing the rich to give to the poor?!”_

_“You can’t take the high ground, Heather. What you did was wrong, and you know it. Keeping her memories from her, keeping all the awful things you did secret -”_

_“Do you really think this’ll fix things between you and her? Do you think this’ll wipe the slate clean? She’ll hate you, too. She hates me because of what I did to Martha, but I didn’t give one single solitary fuck about_ her _until_ you _brought her up, until_ you _thought of different ways to humiliate her. Why? For what?!”_

_“That’s what you wanted! You wanted Veronica to stop talking to her -”_

_“And instead of shutting up and protecting her, you thought of the note! The only time you had your own ideas, the only time you spoke up was when it hurt someone else!”_

_“_ That was the only time you listened to me! _”_

_Silence, stretched taut, ready to snap. Pulse pounding in her ears._

_“Fine. Fine, I’ll own up to that. I treated you like garbage. I know. You’re the one who’s in the right, here.”_

_“…”_

_“Since you’re so keen to wash your hands of me, now, why don’t you go admit to your part in all this to the person you helped to hurt?”_

_“…”_

_“You won’t be sitting at my table until Martha tells me you apologized. That means sitting down with her and admitting how far you were willing to go to break her heart.”_

_“…I…N-”_

_“Do the right thing,_ Heather _.”_

 

Chandler remained stone-faced as they locked eyes, then she turned away. She wouldn’t stop the wannabe Robin Hood if she wanted to make a break for somewhere safer, but Duke would have to work up the courage herself. As if Heather would help her out.

As if Heather had ever helped her out.

Chandler paused for a moment, frowning, then decided against brooding about that any further. One problem at a time, she thought to herself. Veronica came first.

 

Have these people ever had _any_ good ideas? Had they ever had a real thought in their fucking heads?! Every single answer the student body was useless – it was all ‘replace what was broken’ or ‘apologize via a letter’ or ‘stand outside of their house with a boombox blasting their favorite song at 1 A.M.’. Was that a reference to something? What exactly was that supposed to prove, and how was it supposed to make Veronica love her again?

“Hey.”

“ _Oh, fuck!_ ”

McNamara recoiled. “Sorry. I tried, like, waving at you and stuff, but that didn’t work.”

“Yeah, well, I’m busy.”

“I got that much. You haven’t touched your lunch.”

Heather looked down at the best Westerburg could buy – a disappointing salad, tater tots that were probably already cold, and a pie, pastry already soaked through with watery gravy. It wasn’t exactly a tragedy to miss out on that.

“Is there a problem?” Heather clipped.

“Veronica looks sad.”

Heather risked a glance. Nothing had changed – Veronica was still trying to heat up her lunch by hoping the rage in her eyes would make it catch fire. “That does not surprise me at all.”

“Why?”

“Well, she’s stuck on crutches, stuck in a backwater school, and stuck with a student body she hates – except Martha, I guess.”

“Oh.” Chandler was about to go back to her list, as if there was some hidden message in the inane answers that would solve everything, when – “Can I talk to her?”

McNamara did understand ‘the student body’ included her, right? “Do whatever you want. Your choice.”

“…I’m gonna talk to her, okay?”

“ _Do whatever you want_ , Heather. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

McNamara cringed again, trotting off to see Veronica like she’d get a better reception from. Whatever. It was an improvement, wasn’t it? McNamara was making her own choices, she wasn’t just another sheep anymore. Veronica would be happy with that. _Heather_ was happy with that. It meant McNamara would ramble on about who Allison’s dating this week or whether Kurt is trying to make a move on her or not. She had work to do.

And Heather certainly did not care, not even for a second, that this meant she was alone.

Not at all.

 

-

 

She never had any practice with this.

It was a childish thing. She shouldn’t have been doing it anyway, but this was… well, it wasn’t really important, and it wouldn’t fix anything. Heather just had the tendency to think there were certain things she had to do, and this was one of them. Even if she apparently had the fine motor control of an inebriated bear, she’d power through until she succeeded or her fingers fell off, whichever came first.

After another hour of fumbling, she threw her failed experiment across the room – well, she tried, but it didn’t have enough weight to get much further than a few feet. Causing some destruction did make her feel a little better, though, so there was that.

Just as she was about to start again, the doorbell rang. Heather frowned – nobody she knew ever bothered with that. Was this some sort of trap? She didn’t know of any Jehovah’s Witnesses that hadn’t been scared off…

After five minutes, she peeked out the window to see if whoever it was had left. At the front door stood girl she didn’t recognize. No fashion sense, but plenty of patience, it seemed.

…Well, if they wanna speak to her, Heather wouldn’t object. Cardigan girl might be someone she wanted to talk to, for all Heather knew, and there were very few people who were that were willing to speak to Heather. Worst case scenario, Chandler told her to get the fuck off her property.

She took another few minutes to make herself presentable and get down the stairs, and when she opened the door, she girl was still there.

Oof. Those glasses, they did not belong in this decade, to say nothing of the formless, dowdy outfit. Nice bone structure, though, even if the face was a little plain.

The girl smiled nervously. “Hi.”

 “Hi. Can I help you?”

“Well, yeah. I was hoping I could come in and have a chat. You know, catch up.”

“…I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“Oh, well, you did,” Cardigan replied, with a complete absence of disappointment or offense in her voice, “I’m Betty Finn. We went to middle school together. And elementary school. And… kindergarten.”

“But not high school.”

“No. No, I go to Jefferson.”

Jefferson? “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

Betty’s polite smile went nowhere near her eyes. “It’s fine. They have a really good debate team there, you know.”

“Are you on the debate team?”

“No.”

Heather opened the door a little wider and beckoned to Betty. Jefferson. God. Chandler didn’t even know this girl and she was ninety-nine percent sure she deserved better than that wretched, infected hive. A sit down and a talk wouldn’t hurt.

As was expected, Betty was looking up and around as if she’d found herself in the Sistine Chapel.

“Wow. You have a really nice house.”

Heather shrugged. “Dad’s got cash to burn. It’s nothing special, really.”

“Well, I’m sure a lot of other people in town would be impressed.” They were, and it gave Chandler a little boost to her already excellent self-esteem. “Where would you like to sit?”

“There’s a living room in here. Doesn’t get a whole lot of use, but it’s clean.”

Again, Betty gave a little “Oh!” of pleasant surprise when they enter. Heather had to wonder whether it was an act – the entranceway she kinda got, but the living room? It was neat and tidy, sure, but so very, very dull. Then again, Jefferson. Her expectations were probably at rock-bottom every day of her life.

“Was there anything in particular you wanted to talk about?” asked Heather.

Betty thinks for a moment. “I don’t think so. How’s high school going? Are you happy it’s almost over?”

“Opening with the tough questions, are we?”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to pry _that_ much -”

“Sarcasm, Betty,” Heather sighed, “Yes, I’m looking forward to getting out of here and never seeing any of those people again.”

For once, there was something other than polite curiosity sparkling in Betty’s eyes. Heather tensed, just slightly.

“So, there’s no-one that’s worth sticking around for?”

“Well, there’s a few,” Heather admitted, shifting in her seat, “but they can be counted on one hand. Most are already settling into their role of small-town nobodies. I’m not gonna let that happen to me, and I hope it doesn’t happen to them.”

This was apparently an acceptable answer, but still something lingered. “I thought a lot of people liked you at Westerburg.” Well, Heather’s next question was gonna be how Betty knew that. “Don’t you like them back?”

“They like the idea of me,” Heather scoffed. “I put a lot of work into being someone people want to know. They only care about what I can do for them – I’m just returning the favor.”

“…Oh. I see.” Then, “Are you happy with that?”

Heather felt something rise up in her throat, a gut reaction. Who was this girl to ask if she was happy with what she had? If she wasn’t, why did Heather even bother? She was the undisputed head of the school – everyone wanted her, and everyone would want her in college if she kept this up, surely, if she had to teach some people their place in the process, that was fine, they’d do the same if they were in her position, wouldn’t they? So a few people got lost along the way, a regrettable loss, but all’s fair in love and high school, there was nothing she wouldn’t do differently, and…

And…

…

None of that was true, was it?

“I’m sorry,” Betty said sheepishly, “that was kind of a rude question, wasn’t it?”

Heather vaguely waved her hand. “Not at all. I just realized I’ve been a bit of a poor host, is all. Would you like something to drink?”

“Oh, no, thank you, I’m okay. Um, just a question, something I’ve been wondering.”

“Shoot.”

“How’s Veronica been doing?”

Heather’s head shot up.

“I was just meaning to ask. We were good friends when we were younger – you know, Betty and Veronica, Sawyer and Finn – well, you’d know, I’m sure, I remember at least two other girls called Heather. I know Ronnie had an accident a while back, but I understand she’s a lot better now. How is she doing, do you think?”

“I…” Heather mentally steadied herself, closing her eyes. “Betty, were you sent to spy on me?”

Betty blinked. “I don’t think so. Or maybe I was, I’m not sure. I certainly didn’t mean to.”

Heather bit back the rage bubbling up in her chest. How could she have been so stupid? What other reason would people have to visit, if they didn’t want something from her?!

But, but, even through all the layers of deep scarlet and jade over Chandler’s vision, Betty genuinely seemed to be telling the truth about her part in this. No curses and bile for her, today. Just exasperation at how anyone could be so incredibly naive as to not realize they were being used.

“Well, whoever sent you to interrogate me -”

“I just thought it was a nice talk, I’m sorry -”

“- Tell them I…” Heather swallowed. “I want to talk to her again, but I don’t think she’ll let me.”

“…Veronica won’t let you?”

“I hurt her. Emotionally, I mean, the police can confirm I did _not_ hit her. I didn’t mean to do that, but now she hates me. Not unjustified, granted, but I want to set the record straight and she’s been actively avoiding me.”

“Okay. Did you say sorry?”

“Yes!” …Wait. “Well, I thought I did.”

“Well, you can start there, I guess. Maybe slip something into her locker, if she won’t talk to you, you know. I think she’d be open to something like that, if I remember her right.”

Heather took a deep breath in, then out. Betty waited for approval, or banishment, apparently in utter ignorance.

“Betty, I’d like to thank you for the first potentially good piece of advice I’ve gotten for a long time.”

“Oh. You’re welcome.”

“I don’t suppose you’d know how to make a flower crown, would you?”

 

-

 

It was quiet, out here. Heather found she didn’t mind the quiet as much as she thought she would. She still wasn’t fond of waiting, though.

There wasn’t a lot of Sherwood that was a) quiet, b) green and c) not covered in cow shit, but Chandler managed to scout somewhere out. A little patch of green, a bench underneath a big old oak tree. It had a good view of the kindergarten, too. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

She’d left the message (and gift) in Veronica’s locker as stealthily as she could, though McNamara was once again all too happy to help with something she didn’t fully understand. Still no word from Martha on Duke. Maybe things weren’t quite ready to change. That might mean Veronica would just ignore it, too. Well, Heather said to meet here at five – she checked her watch, about three minutes to go – and nothing would help with that except time, and what it brought.

She didn’t like not being in control. That was a major part of her personality, and she wasn’t willing to call it a weakness. It was something she had to deal with, she thought she’d grown enough to know that, but it still wasn’t a nice thing to feel. For as long as she could remember, she’d dealt with it in different ways. Throwing a tantrum when she was left with nannies, to physically lashing out at anyone who called her names, to the much more elegant solution of letting people give her that control. Of course, none of it did much good, in the end. Not with the things that actually mattered to her.

There was nothing left for her to do. She’d wait for ten minutes, maybe twenty, maybe an hour, whichever made her feel better, then accept defeat. Until then, all that could help was watching the seconds tick by.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

Heather looked up. Right on time.

Veronica kept her face carefully blank as she navigated the grass. “You couldn’t have picked an easier place to get to, could you?”

“I wanted somewhere out of the way,” answered Heather, “somewhere where we couldn’t be easily found.”

“Hm.”

A long silence as Veronica lowered herself onto the bench. Heather did reach out to help, but she was waved off. Well, okay. Veronica would be the one to dictate this meeting, anyway.

“What are you expecting to get out of this?” Veronica questioned. “Are you expecting me to forgive you just ‘cause you gave me a present?”

“No. I almost didn’t expect you to come at all.”

“…I’ve heard some things. From Martha, and Heather. Heather too, I guess, but she’s not as eager to talk about you. You do not make sense, Heather, I hope you know that.”

“I do.”

“Not as talkative today, I notice.”

“I’m giving you a chance,” Heather replied quietly, “I don’t think I’ve done that enough.”

Veronica raised her eyebrows. “’Kaaay. Well, I think you not only violated my privacy by breaking into my house and reading my diary, you also kept my own memories from me. Major strike against you, there. Heather did say you were gonna give the diary back, and I don’t know _why_ I believe her, but I do. You changed your mind. Why?”

“I think… I think, at first, I was shocked. I know what people say about me behind my back, but it was kind of a wake-up call to have it in your face like that -”

“Which it shouldn’t have been.”

“- But reading it through, I didn’t realize how similar we are. In how we deal with things, I mean, not just that we hate all the same people.” She got a little chuckle from Veronica with that, but Heather wasn’t sure if she was laughing at or with her. “I think… I think I wanted you to give me a chance. I wanted to prove you were wrong about me. That I was something more.”

“And you’re not entirely soulless. Morally dubious, but not soulless. I know that now because you didn’t.”

Damned by faint praise, it seemed. “I would have given it back to you, I think. Before Heather stole it. Heather had just blown your cover with Westerburg, anyway, I figured you’d be flooded with people telling you how much of a cunt I am, so…”

“Yeah, you left me with some of the most insipid people I have ever met. Granted, I haven’t met a lot of people, but they’re still up there.”

“You told me to leave. I assumed you meant forever.”

“Yeah, I thought I meant that, too. I played myself.”

A bird calls off, somewhere above them. A shuffle of metal on wood, and Veronica’s hand is on Heather’s. A wave of emotion, of warmth, washes over her, and Heather has to scrunch her eyes shut to keep herself from tearing up. She didn’t quite grasp how much she’d been starved of this until that moment.

“This won’t wipe what you did away,” Veronica stressed, “I only remember bits and pieces of what you did, but I trust my own word on the matter. If you want this to work, you have to do better.”

“I know. I’m trying.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed. But this means apologizing, not just wallowing in self-pity. You’re making Heather apologize to Martha, which I get, but you were the one in charge. Practice what you preach.”

“Okay. I will.”

Veronica paused, then pressed at quick kiss to the top of Heather’s head. “There’s still time to make things right, Heather. Don’t waste it.”

“Fine. But only if you don’t waste it, either.”

“Well, I need a little while to get there. One of my legs is permanently shorter than the other, now, I can’t go as fast anymore.”

“…Was that a joke?”

“I’m trying to make it less of a big deal. Self-deprecation, y’know?”

“You need to work on your act, then.”

“Okay, okay.”

Finally, finally, Heather felt something lift from her shoulders. Whatever it was, it had been a long time coming. For once in what seemed like forever, she wasn’t worried about what other people thought, what they were doing. She was perfectly content to sit here and watch the sky darken to a beautiful shade of purple.

 

-

 

_“Hello, what’s your name?”_

_“Um, ‘Ronica. It’s my first day.”_

_“It’s my first day, too. You wanna play?”_

_“What’re we playing?”_

_“I dunno yet. I like princesses. We can play princesses, if you want.”_

_“…Okay. I’ll play… Um, what’s your name?”_

_“Heather. I’m Heather. We’re friends now. Friends forever.”_


End file.
